


never gonna leave this bed

by transit (dollyeo)



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-30
Updated: 2017-10-30
Packaged: 2019-01-26 14:16:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12559216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dollyeo/pseuds/transit
Summary: "I think we should move in together."Minghao doesn't look up from his printouts, almost halfway through his presentation deck before eleven in the evening. He turns a page. "No."-Soonyoung and Minghao negotiate living arrangements. Sort of.





	never gonna leave this bed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [xuminghao](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xuminghao/gifts).



> hey hey hey ♥ thanks for giving me the chance to write these two dorks! It bordered dangerously close to nsfw more than once but I had to hold back the thirst, I hope you don't mind :) enjoy!

"I think we should move in together."

Minghao doesn't look up from his printouts, almost halfway through his presentation deck before eleven in the evening. He could have gotten this done much earlier, but Soonyoung had shown up at his apartment at seven-thirty with cartons of chicken and a bottle of cola as meager offerings (read: bribery) in an attempt to get some cuddling penciled into Minghao's agenda. So far, Soonyoung's winning, stretched out on Minghao's couch and attempting to make himself a permanent ache in Minghao's side.

It's cute. But it's also terribly distracting, with how Soonyoung keeps nosing at his hip and tracing circles on Minghao's kneecap with his thumb. He turns a page. "No."

He hears Soonyoung's pout more than he sees it, petulance in the whine of his throat. "You didn't even think about it for a minute," Soonyoung protests. The lazy stroke along Minghao's knee turns into fingernails digging into his skin, leaving crescents of white in its wake. Minghao just sighs and pries Soonyoung's hand away. "At least have the decency to pretend like you're considering it!"

"I don't even need to think about it to say no to your face," says Minghao. He looks at Soonyoung's scowl, and hides the slow, unfurling smile tugging on his lips behind his book. "Even if it _is_ a cute one."

"I'd swoon, but then I remember how you think being cute means being ugly but tolerable, so fuck you," says Soonyoung. The scowl ebbs and fades into a pout, one that makes Soonyoung puff his cheeks out. It makes something in Minghao's stomach flutter and clench, fondness and want bleeding in together. He stares harder at the text in front of him, and pretends he doesn't notice.

Between the two of them, their friends and Soonyoung tell Minghao he's the cute one, but ever since Minghao had shot up more centimeters than anyone expected and almost got a crick in his neck from looking down at Soonyoung whenever they argued, Soonyoung had bemoaned the loss time and again. "You used to be so cute when I couldn't understand anything you were saying," Soonyoung used to muse, pillow talk as he toyed with Minghao's bedhead, cowlick sticking up and following the twirl of Soonyoung's fingers as easily as Minghao's mouth, his teeth, his hands did, always. "Now you're just a brat."

But it's the brattiness that's his only defense, when he wants nothing more than to toss his papers aside, set his laptop on the nearest surface and tug Soonyoung closer, tangling their limbs together. Foreheads, lips, cheeks, lower -- like they're eighteen and rutting against each other with their hands over their mouths to keep quiet, stay close, hidden.

He's young and only human. He can't stop thinking about it, even if he doesn't have to do anything about it now. Later, maybe. He has a deadline to beat.

"Stop putting words into my mouth," says Minghao, primly. He turns another page. "Besides, don't you like rooming with Jun-hyung?"

"Yeah, but I already feel guilty enough we've been sexiling him for a while now," says Soonyoung.

"Does it really count as sexiling if we only cuddle half the time?" Minghao asks.

"Well, _some of us_ keep trying to get some action," Soonyoung snarks, "but apparently video games matter more to you than sex, Mr. Just-Let-Me-Shoot-Seokmin-Again, Hyung!"

"They're very therapeutic to my soul."

"I feel like I should be jealous and vaguely concerned," says Soonyoung, "Especially if you find Seokmin's suffering more enjoyable than me trying to get you out of your pants."

"You've been sitting on my lap trying to squish me to death since we were in middle school," says Minghao. "I'm immune."

Soonyoung pinches his side, and Minghao doesn't flinch, doesn't even move in place. It's Soonyoung that's the sensitive one all over, more prone to squirming under Minghao's fingers than the other way around; Soonyoung calls him a rock, desensitized, and Minghao's always tempted to come back with an innuendo to shut him up, but that'd just make Soonyoung look at him and sigh, like he's deeply disappointed in him.

It's not-- it's not like Minghao's not capable of thinking dirty things, especially around Soonyoung. He's been thinking of him that way since Minghao discovered porn and had to learn how to do his own laundry at the dead of the night, just from thinking about the sweat pooling on Soonyoung's collarbones after P.E., or the slope of his torso, skin peeking out whenever he stretched his arms above his head. More than a decade later and they're already legitimate tax-paying adults, and yet every little thing about Soonyoung still makes a pebble sink into Minghao's stomach, clawing to get out. It's too much.

"Besides," says Minghao, touching the corner of Soonyoung's mouth with his thumb. He watches Soonyoung's throat constrict, as he swallows down whatever it is he's thinking, suddenly at a loss for words at the slightest touch, "weren't you the one who wanted to room with other people in the first place?"

"Yeah, but--" Soonyoung splutters, covering his face with his palms. The tips of his ears are red, betraying his thoughts. "You _know_ why!"

 _Because you'd never leave the house except for groceries and food_ , says a voice that sounds strangely like Mingyu gagging at the idea of it. _Perverts_.

"I do," says Minghao, solemnly. "It's because I'd kill you for slacking off on chores before the semester's even over."

Soonyoung kicks at him, peeling his hands away from his face to show his thunderous frown. Minghao catches his ankle easily, and tickles his soles without mercy, relishing in his yelp. Soonyoung's laugh is open and edging on desperate, and he's squirming so much the waistline of his joggers falls dangerously low, enough to make something form in Minghao's throat, solid and dry.

"You look at him like you want to eat him alive," is something Minghao's heard more than once, and he's not proud of it, no, not always.

But he thinks that sometimes, maybe he _is_ , when Soonyoung's hands are cupping his jaw and pulling him in for a slow, lingering kiss. "I like the way you look at me," Soonyoung would whisper into his mouth, like it's a secret that's hard for him to get out.

It's always made Minghao come undone. He's weak to very few things, and Soonyoung's constantly testing him, day after day.

He's always loved a challenge.

"You're no fun," says Soonyoung, with an aggrieved sigh. He flops back onto the other side of the couch, turning away from Minghao, sulking. It's at least a sign that he's given up for now, but Minghao's not stupid enough to think he'll drop the subject. They're both very, very stubborn people, after all.

"Maybe if you learn to pick up your shit, I'll consider it," says Minghao, pressing a kiss to the nape of his neck. Soonyoung's skin darkens red, and Minghao has to pull away.

"Brat," says Soonyoung, settling back to his side, "See if I ever ask you again."

It's fine, Minghao considers, already thinking about a ring hidden in his desk drawer. He'll be the one asking next time, after all.


End file.
